Midnight Memories
by AResidentGhost
Summary: Erik is unwittingly turned by the infamous Dracula, who leaves him on his own before he awakes into his new unlife. This is his storya story of anger, revenge, destruction, blood, and longing. Follow him on his new journeys. AU, slight crossover E?
1. Chapter 1

It all started with my death. Yes, you heard right—I am dead. Or at least I _was_ dead. And despite what Monsieur Stoker would have you believe, vampires are not bothered by holy water, crosses, or killed by sunlight. The vampire's power is diminished by that fiery orb, causing them to become weak and semi-mortal, and therefore, most prefer to sleep by day for that reason—and not because they have to. What good would being immortal be if one could not get some sleep once and a while? Plus, it makes it much easier for one to fit in better with society if one is not restricted to the night solely. And as I have learned, even before my _becoming_, the better one fits with society, the less attention one garners, and the more able you are to escape pursuers. Plus, the more that would-be hunters and slayers believe that odd myth, the more we are likely to survive.

It all would have been good and all, but I would still, even with the life I have lived after my _becoming_, have rather _stayed_ dead. My life was hell, made no lighter by the very nature of my demonic appearance—even when I was alive. However, one of the strange new abilities that came with my _becoming_ was an ability to "project" an image different than my true features that other people see—they see a handsome young man instead of a walking corpse, a figure for which I earned nothing but derision my whole life—excluding the small glimmer of hope, fragile as crystal, brought by the hope for love from such a lovely creature, my Christine, but dashed to pieces by the fact that I knew she would never be happy with me, and I therefore let her go. Born a freak, died a freak, and shall forever be a freak, doomed to forever be hated—but not if I can help it. I shall have the love forever denied to me—one way or another—be it by force or by deception, I do not really care, for to live forever with no hope or hint of love is no life at all. Granted a second chance at life, however unwillingly, through a kiss and a baptism of blood. Damned? I should hope not. If so, then be it for my past deeds and not for something I had no choice in or chance to refuse. I know, having been baptized at birth a Catholic although I fell out of favor with the idea of God, that I would already have been suitably damned by my previous deeds in the hell that could be called of my life, and then I would perhaps already be burning in the fiery pits of hell. Or is this eternal un-life to be my eternal damnation? My sire, I believe, now goes by the name of "Alucard", but of what should I care about that? Especially now that I can have whatever I want now—even, as I have said before, a semblance of normalcy, something I've always wanted and longed for.

I was on my deathbed, you could say. Having lived for over 150 years was no easy task—especially for someone who looks like me or is like me—a human hybrid. A hybrid of what, I never knew, only that it came from my _real_ mother's side. I was the son of a sorcerer whose talents ran along the lines of necromancy and healing, and it was rumored throughout my childhood near Rouen that he had briefly consorted with a pagan goddess of death, others a demon, and still others, a vampire. Whatever she was, she was not human, but was able to pass off as one. When I was born, I was often thought to be God's retribution for my father's magic by the townsfolk. Shortly after my birth, however strange as it may seem, my _real_ mother disappeared with the ominous threat of harm to anyone that thought to kill me before my appointed time. This certainly scared my father and his wife, one of his many lovers that he quickly married for propriety's sake after my mother left, as they loved to remind me as I grew up during what I term my stay with them. Together, they had many children—but no heirs. I was the only male that my father ever sired.

At this point, I was old, tired, weary, and world-sick, you could say. One hundred fifty years is a long time for anyone to live, much less on often described as a monster, and I was sick of the hatred and pain directed at me. One would think someone like me, exposed to such feelings from early on, would eventually not be affected by such emotions, actions, and words. A very alluring, black-haired, bespectacled man—even though I still find it odd, even strange, that such a charmer would waste his time on me—appeared at the side of my coffin-bed as I was about to take my last breath.

Almost hypnotically, which angered me that such a man should be able to do such a thing that I have practiced throughout my lifetime, he asked in a slightly Eastern accent, "How would you like to liver forever?" I could barely speak to answer him or nod, as I was too weak to draw in any deep breaths. I was, therefore, given no choice in the matter—the man, the _stranger_, chose _my_ destiny for_ me_, and this still angers me when I think about it. I suddenly felt something cold, like death, and sharp as needles puncture my thin, yellow, clammy skin and the feeling that I had was that of my life draining away even faster than before. After this, I felt something warm—and strangely pleasant—roll down my throat filling the rapidly growing emptiness. I was dying, and I knew that I would soon myself under the scrutiny of that being that judges all souls, and surely be cast into hell. Finally becoming too tired to even stay aware of the changes happening both around and inside of me, I let everything go and fell away from life—that may sound strange, but it's the only way I can describe how it felt to finally die. I was dead, as I had announced in _L'Epoque_.

When I woke again, he was gone. I was left alone, as I have always been, and I believe I shall always be, seemingly new to the world and more confused than I've ever been before, but also angry and powerful, more so than I could ever imagine. One word stayed in my mind: I was a vampire, but I am still Erik.


	2. Chapter 2

I walk the streets of London's infamous red light district in search of a…companion…of sorts. I have tracked my sire thus far—through countless years and cities, losing his "scent" for thirty years, but Erik is not known for giving up, and has ways of getting the information he wants. I have picked up the trail again, and it has led me to this ancient, yet modern city. And now I am here, in the Red Light District, looking for my next meal…and perhaps a good fuck—if only to gain their trust so I can be at _full_ power when I finally _confront_ him—that elusive creature that sired me and continued my accursed and wretched existence.

My overtly sensitive sense of smell is leading me to a particularly exotic-looking lady-of-the-night. For this little "side-trip", I am using one of my many tricks to project the image of a suave, young debonair with money to burn and a healthy appetite for sex that needs to be sated.

"Well, hello, little rose," I turn my charm on to its fullest power, something I have come to rely on as I was naught…taught…such things as I grew in my tortured childhood.

"_¿Un poco rosa, ay?_"

I grin. _"Sí, señorita. ¿Como te llamo? ¿Y, para hablas Inglés?"_

_"Sí, señor. Mi llamo es Carlita._ You may call me Rosa, if you like," she purrs.

"What is that captivating scent you are wearing, Rosa? It is…intoxicating," I nestle alongside her. So captivated by my allure and hypnotized by my words is she that the hooker does not even notice how very thin I am or the deathly cold of my touch. I grin, and my lips part slightly, offering a glimpse of my skin-piercing, needle-like corner teeth.

"Oh that new one by Calvin Klein or whoever it is… Why, you like?"

"_Sí, señorita. Me gusto muchas._ Would you come with me? Hmmm?" I pull her along with me as I move toward the darker shadows. I taste the skin of her neck with a delicate lick of my sensitive tongue. Such a delicate flavor she has…sweet, yet salty; tangy with a hint of spiciness. Oh, am going to enjoy this…

I place one of my hands over her mouth to stifle the inevitable scream as I open my mouth, revealing my oversized and extremely sharp incisors. Savoring the scent of her fear, I plunge into her neck. Soon the ecstasy of the hot blood overwhelms my senses and me. But that is not to say that I am unaware of my surroundings—far from it, actually. I will not drink this woman dry—she is quite delicious, and I _may_ come back for more from her. Thus, I hear the approach of a stranger in soft-soled leather shoes. I lick her wounds with my tongue, eager for the last few drops of blood and to help her heal from my feeding. I sniff the air—even though I still have no nose—and I catch a faint scent. A scent that is infinitely familiar to me—as it should be, for it is of the one who created me and gave me this un-life.

I laugh, low and dangerous. "If it isn't the great Dracula himself. Or is it 'Alucard' now?"

I drop the rose's limp body and whirl around only to face a tall man in a broad-brimmed hat and a greatcoat—both scarlet, tinted glasses, and white gloves.

"Is it…you, Erik?" I growl at the figure. "No matter. I shall destroy you as my lord wishes."

"Do you really think _you_ can stop _me_?" I ask the crimson figure. From his pocket he draws a large black gun with lettering engraved on it. By now I've dropped my charade and am exposed to the world in all my hideous glory.

"Still as ugly as ever…"

"You wouldn't dare, _Alucard…_"

Before he can shoot at my heart, or me I transform myself into a jet-black raven and fly away, leaving the enslaved vampire cursing. I land and perch on a roof high above the pavement of the alleyway of a building beside said alleyway. I carefully observe and listen in on the man in red while staying out of his preternaturally keen eyesight.

"Mission incomplete. Request extension," he speaks to no one I can see.

"Master!" A young woman's voice travels from the shadows.

"Yes, police girl?" The tall figure answers.

"Who was that?"

The elder vampire doesn't answer right away, so the police girl speaks again.

"Master? Please tell me. It seemed he knew you somehow… And you know him…"

"Someone I knew a long time ago. Someone I thought I'd never see again in the rest of my un-lifetime."

"What was his name?"

I fly back down to the street and return to my corpse-body again. However, I use another trick of mine to remain invisible to all senses but mine. From a secret pocket inside my own greatcoat I withdraw my black "silk" mask and fasten it upon my hideous visage. Throwing my voice into the shadows of the alleyway, I answer the girl.

"His name was Erik. Just Erik. And Erik was the infamous Opera Ghost _and _the Angels of Death and Music on separate occasions… Therefore, I would think it not wise to turn your back on him!"

I make myself visible as I rush upon the ancient lord-of-the-night. Faster than greased lightning, as the Americans are fond of saying—or at least, were fond of saying, my Punjab lasso is out of its hidden pocket, thrown, and looped around Alucard's neck. I pull hard, in what would be lethal to a human, and bring the formidable vampire down to his knees—hard.

"Call off this hunt on Erik! Or Erik will kill again!" I demand.

"You'll find—_ghost_—that I am not that easy to kill," Alucard manages to choke out.

"Erik knows that. Erik also knows that humans do not destroy you yourself. Erik knows this very well."

"Then why threaten me, your sire?"

"Erik is starting to enjoy his un-life. And Erik warns you thusly: Erik knows magic more ancient than you. He would have no qualms using it against you and possibly destroying this city. Does his sire wish to take that chance? Or would he rather cooperate with Erik and his requests that he will soon tell? The choice is up to you, of course."

"You wouldn't dare!" Exclaims the police girl. "Would you?"

"Erik would, yes he would. For Erik is quite mad, yes, and he knows it. For is it not said that the maddest madman is the madman who knows he is mad? What say you, Alucard?"

"What do you want?"

I grin under my mask and my feral eyes gleam with madness and "life". "An apology, first. _All Erik wanted was to die!_ Was that so bad? Secondly, revenge—but Erik wouldn't be able to get away with it, would he now? Thirdly, Erik would like a place to come home to. Take me to your master. Now! A war is raging and it is coming closer, and when it arrives, there will be much bloodshed. Erik would like to right his wrongs."


	3. Chapter 3

I was in awe. His "home" is almost as beautiful as beautiful as my greatest architectural achievement in my life, the Opera Garnier in Paris. I do believe my mouth was hanging open, even, much to my dismay.

"Well," I quipped a bit bitterly. "I am awed, I believe. And where's your mortal controller?"

Alucard just grinned devilishly, showing his teeth. He started to chuckle, which triggered my regular response to petty annoyances: it angered me once again. "You mean Miss Integra Hellsing? _You _want to see _her?_ I suppose you shall have to see her. But if you try to take your sustenance from her, I _shall_ have to kill you…"

I snarled at him, baring my own wicked teeth. I so wanted to tear his throat out with my very teeth, and I would have absolutely no qualm about doing such to that despicable, dead bastard without whom I would be well and dead! I doubt I will ever forgive him for that.

A rich, educated, and cultured female voice called out from behind massive, closed oak doors. What wealth! Perhaps I could have taken over this bastion as my new sanctuary. I desperately wanted the blood of an Englishman, and I would have it no matter what happened, and most importantly, straight from the tap, so to speak. I may be mad, but I am sane enough to know my particular sanguine needs and wants. And right then, I wanted my forcibly abandoned feast of a meal. That in itself still angers me, I was no one's slave anymore, and I did not wish to be told what I had to do and not do ever again. Blood is not so bad, once you get used to its flavor, in fact, it can be quite sweet. It is rather like a fine wine, aged to perfection. How would I have known? Well, I was quite a connoisseur of fine wines in my lonely living life.

A platinum blonde, long haired young woman was seated behind a large mahogany desk. So this was my sire's all-powerful master? A weak, defenseless specimen of the human race who once shunned me, who is not only a _woman_, but is also _shorter_ than me (which, I must admit, is not that hard to be)? I laughed inside my deranged head. It eventually escaped from my twisted mind and out through my desiccated lips and mouth in a wild and crazed sound. I was not seen at first, but most certainly heard of course, owing to my ability to manipulate what people see, especially if the image involves me. It is all illusions, which, for me, are something I have always known and been very good in presenting such tricks.

"Show yourself, rogue," the woman commanded of me, but I knew I would not comply—at least not just yet. I moved silently behind her leather chair. Daringly, I extended my hands from my pockets and placed them "invisibly" upon her shoulders, delicate and gentle, so as to not give her a clue to where I was quite yet. I leaned into her ear and intoned within the orifice, "You might not like what you see, should I decide to reveal myself."

I dropped my façade with my dead face not far from her very own face. While waiting for the shock to settle in, I let my tongue lick her delicate, yet harsh features. She tasted very good, but I knew she was way out of even _my_ reach. She was an angel, and I but a loathsome devil. A devil that wished to have never been given the gift of eternal life. But that was then—I've learned better since then to appreciate and "live" with this peculiar, even if it is no longer unwanted, gift.

"_Bonjour,_" I purred. "And you are Mademoiselle Integra Hellsing, no?"

She answered with a swift uppercut to my bony chin that even sent me flying and crying out in surprise and pain. She had quite an incredible strength that one would not have thought of with her size. Before I hit the wall behind the desk, I shifted my shape once again into a massive—at least compared to other, regular _corvidae_—black raven. Easily in that form I found my bearings and righted myself. I flew towards her again as she brandished an elaborate cross. I laughed in a deep caw-cackle of the raven's voice. Crosses have never really bothered me much in my unlife, if at all. Why should they? Why should a god I had never really any real reason to believe in for most, if not all, of my so-called life bother me in my death? I shifted back into my grotesque flesh, reached out, grabbed the religious ornamentation, and crushed it easily in my bony fist.

Her eyes widened. "You—you're evil! Pure evil!" She exclaimed.

I grinned, a most certainly spooky sight if ever there was one. "Erik is not evil, mind you, just mad. Very, _very _mad. Erik was not _born_ mad. The world made him mad. Will you continue to help the world in sustaining Erik's madness?"

"Alucard, what the hell did you do now?" She demanded of my sire.

"I? I did nothing," he claimed. "If you're asking, Sir, if I have turned yet another poor soul recently, you are very much mistaken. I turned him long ago, long before I came here. I created him at the end of his almost unnatural life, you might say. Hell, you might even say I speeded his death." Alucard laughed. He has always been such an egomaniacal braggart for as long as I've been forced to know him.

"Who is he?" She asked.

"Surely my appearance should tell you something of who I am, _mademoiselle_, as my story seems to be ever so popular nowadays, though not for the right reason, and this angers me to no end," I growled. "So who is me? And no telling, sire."

I waited impatiently, and after five minutes she had not answered, so I answered for her, building up to a mighty crescendo. "No guesses? I am the notorious Ghost of the Paris Opera! The infamous Opera Ghost! _I am Don Juan triumphant! I am Le Fantôme! Le Fantôme de l'Opéra! And I am damned!"_


End file.
